


heavy hearts

by scorpionprince



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Boxing, Blood, Character Death, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knives, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rating: M, Slow Burn, this is a boxing au okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpionprince/pseuds/scorpionprince
Summary: “When you allow a fox the privilege of a full stomach, he thinks he can face the wolf and live. We all know how that story ends. We’ll be leaving now, Nathaniel.”AFTG Boxing AU.Nathaniel was sold to the Moriyama's to be a fighter, not an Exy player. Kevin leaves their team to train with the Foxes after his hand is broken, and the task of playing up the Fox/Raven rivalry is left to Nathaniel.Will he run with wolves, or lie with foxes?





	1. A Murder of Ravens

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone, welcome to the Foxhole Court boxing AU! this fic is obviously rated M, as it has a lot of shady mob work, lots of physical fighting and altercations, as well as mild drug use, torture, abuse, etc. pretty much the same content warnings as the original books. 
> 
> this is a slow burning, torturous fic and i hope you guys enjoy! let me know if there's anything else you'd like tagged, i'm happy to oblige.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil wins a fight, Tetsuji schemes, Kevin disappears.

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

 

Have you ever heard the sound of a blade parting flesh?

It makes a home in your ears - the unforgettable tearing of muscle and tendon against hair-thin steel. I don’t know if I can recall a moment where that sound was ever silent in my head. It buzzes, high and keening on the surface of my skull. If I shut my eyes, I can hear a thousand men being sliced apart. When I open them, there’s blood dripping through my fingers. 

That’s why I fight without them. 

Flesh against flesh is a dull, organic sound. Skin against skin is warm and solid - it vibrates with life. I gave up my right to choose how my body is touched, but it’s worth it to feel bone give under my fists. To feel blood pumping and skin splitting and fingers cracking against one another. Whoever I could’ve become, any love or trust or hope I could’ve felt, runs further away from me with every man I defeat. My father traded my autonomy for a warm body on a mat - one that destroys everyone else in its wake.

In the ring, I become nothing.

But, like Andrew always told me, “I want  _ nothing _ .”

\--

Nathaniel’s first memories of The Nest couldn’t have been further from pleasant and the memories that came before even worse, but his mother tried to teach him how to make due with the lot he’d been given. That lesson was the same reason she still lived in the Butcher’s house, dreading the seconds until his prison release. Not that Nathaniel would know - he hadn’t spoken to her since his father sold him - but he’d spent enough time with her in that haunted house to guess. 

The first time he had ever set foot in that gym, he spent a few minutes too many staring at the cavernous ceilings in awe. The walls were lined with mirrors, and every spare section without one was painted a suffocating shade of black. Half of the gym was dedicated to weight machines and bars, the other half was staged with practice rings and endless rows of equipment. The only free space not being used included the main lobby, and patches of mats on the floor for stretching. He had never seen anything like it, having begun his training in the backyard in Baltimore. It struck him as the kind of place where greatness was born. However, the blood of a Wesninski meant that greatness came with knives attached.

Nathaniel’s father was given an ultimatum - kill your son, or sell him to the boss. The Moriyama crime family did not tolerate the stupidity that nepotism bore in outsiders, and they would not have their best man compromised by fatherly affection. Nathan hadn’t been prone to the sentiment beforehand, but he figured his son’s body would make more money alive than dead. So, he brought the boy out to the yard and rolled up his sleeves. He would make a fighter out of this one yet. If that failed, he had more flesh to feed to his hungry, darling Lola.

Nathaniel found himself wandering further from his mother than he had ever thought to before, on that day. He was captivated by the hope he had yet to lose - of being the best lightweight fighter the world had ever seen. The stars in his eyes blinded him, and he found himself standing in a dark hallway, a faint light beaming from the underside of a closed door. He crept up to the handle, and pushed himself into the room. The sight of limbs detaching from their original host and the glint of steel in his father’s eyes was enough to eat the awe out of his heart. The floors of The Nest ran with blood from then on.

\--

Nathaniel threw his towel down on the couch with a tremendous huff as he sat, resting his elbows on his knees and his pounding head in his hands. The only time he was afforded a moment to himself was after being escorted from the ring to his personal locker room at the Evermore Arena - after another fight won for the Moriyama name. He lifted his head to shake some of the water out of his freshly washed hair, and sunk his body into the cushions. Almost immediately, a knock sounded at his door. He dragged himself back to his feet and wiped the exhaustion from his expression. His neck immediately craned into a bow when he found the source, and he stood aside to let the intruder in.

“That was a very valuable match,” proclaimed Tetsuji Moriyama, waving at Nathaniel to close the door. 

“You will be back at The Nest tomorrow morning at seven for evaluation and warm-ups,” he said. “I will be speaking with you about a few other affairs at hand. I expect you to be rested and prepared before we meet tomorrow, as you will be training with One and Four for the rest of the afternoon.” 

Nathaniel bowed his head in understanding, avoiding the elder’s eyes. 

“ _ Hai, _ Master,” he replied.

The schedule struck him as very abnormal, and before he could stop himself the words were already spilling past his lips. 

“May I have permission to ask a question, Master?” he asked.

“You may,” the Master said, his tone flat and cold.

Nathaniel swallowed his anxiety and asked, “Why won’t I be training with Two, sir?”

Tetsuji nearly forgot how observant Number Three was. 

“That will be part of evaluation tomorrow,” he replied. “You would do well to remember your manners when deciding what leaves your mouth - you will not like the reminder I give you if you forget again.”

Nathaniel followed the Master to the door and let himself deflate when it was safely shut behind him. He let his mind race as he found his way back to the couch. Usually after a big match, he slept at the arena, reported back to The Nest for an evaluation on his latest performance, and changed out to lift weights with Riko Moriyama (One), Tetsuji’s nephew. After that, he headed to the practice rings to box with Kevin Day (Two), America’s greatest southpaw. Only after lunch would he train with Jean Moreau (Four), sparring or doing cardio or whatever else required under the Master’s watchful eye. Kevin’s absence alarmed him. 

The four of them lived in a building directly behind The Nest, specifically constructed on the same plot as the gym. They followed a very strict training regimen, all planned in advance by the best trainers and nutritionists. They slept, ate, fought, and trained under the same roof every single day. They were poised to be the best fighters in their respective weight classes, and well versed in all of the major fighting styles. Money hemorrhaged out of every professional match any of them fought in, with Riko and Kevin being hailed as the current golden sons of MMA. They took it so seriously, they had their numbers tattooed under their eyes - the press claimed it was a gimmick meant to tie them together as the Moriyama’s, “Raven Boys”. They said it was an honor, to have that number on your face. They would never know those tattoos held no prestige - they served as the marks of their owners, meant to establish a hierarchy in their vicious little world. 

\--

Nathaniel woke with a start, drenched in sweat and panting. He took a few moments to count his inhales in French and Japanese, before he dragged himself off of the couch and into the shower again. After he dressed, he was escorted to the sleek, black car waiting to take him back to the Master. On the drive, he allowed his mind time to wander, keeping his thoughts from what may await him at the gym. He thought of his opponent from the night before, taking stock of his cuts and bruises - he’d have to see the medic for a particularly bad jab he took to the ribs. Luckily, his match left the ring in much worse shape, earning him another win. Before he could continue his thoughts, the car stopped at the back door to drop him off. 

Walking into The Nest always brought the stench of blood up to his nose, but he choked it down and kneeled in front of the door to the Master’s office and knocked. A voice from the other side told him to enter, so he stood and walked through the entrance, head bowed.

“I trust you have thought of what you can improve upon, Number Three,” said the Master. 

Nathaniel swallowed the flinch that threatened to seize his body.

“Yes, sir,” he responded. “I need to conserve my strength for the final rounds and make sure to stay off the ground, as I am not equipped to grapple for very long,” he continued. “I took too many hits last night, and it will not happen again.”

Tetsuji nodded and beckoned Nathaniel to take the seat in front of him. They sat in silence for several moments before the Master lifted his gaze. 

“Number Two will no longer be training with us,” said the Master, cold as ice. “He has suffered from an irreversible accident, and is no longer of any use to us. The Southpaw is no more.”

Nathaniel’s heart nearly jumped from his chest. If Kevin was gone, the Ravens would never recover. They’d lost their heavyweight champion, and he knew that Jean would never be able to replace him. Despite their similarity in size, Kevin was all together faster, stronger, and much deadlier. In training all those years with Jean, he had an intimate knowledge of all of his weaknesses and would not hesitate to use that to defeat him. He dreaded the punishment he would receive at Riko’s hand as a result.

“Master, forgive my question, but how will the Ravens replace him?” he asked, anxiety pooling in his stomach, threatening to burn him from the inside. 

The Master’s lips curled in distaste, but he provided a response nonetheless. 

“Number Two has found another team to train with,” he told Nathaniel. “Ordinarily, we would allow a rivalry to play out between One and Two, as that is the most profitable option,” he paused before continuing.

“However, considering their opposing weight classes, we will not be able to exploit that professionally,” a small, bitter smile crossed the Master’s lips as he continued.

“You will be pitted against Number Two’s new dog, Andrew Minyard. You will challenge him, appear as his rival, and you will crush him in the ring. You will remind Number Two of his position by humiliating his new keepers. If you fail, you will not leave the arena with your life.” he finished, finally meeting Nathaniel’s eyes.

Scarred hands clenched into fists on his lap, and he bowed his head.

“Understood, Master,” Nathaniel responded, teeth clenched. “I will not fail you.”


	2. A Skulk of Foxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin's recovering, Andrew is Andrew, and another Fox drops a bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! welcome to chapter 2! i'm trying to come up with a publishing schedule and will update when i figure one out. i'm trying to pump out a chapter a week though. also, i pretty much have this whole story planned out, but i'm having some trouble deciding if i should go with the tragic ending or the happy one. any input you may have is appreciated! 
> 
> thank you for reading!

I don’t think I can ever remember a time when I was expected to stand on my own.

My mother, my masters, my inferiors - all splayed hands and stretched fingers, waiting to catch me. I’m not so stupid to think that they pull me up out of care; they are self serving saviors. My value is determined by the money I am worth, by the amount of men my hands can force to the ground. Midas was blessed with the touch of gold - and I, death. Were my arms to be severed from my body, they would sell for millions and the rest, left bleeding in the gutter. I am a vessel for the success of others, forced into codependency. One could consider the strategy a form of asset protection.

If a fox’s leg is snared in a trap he would take any help offered to get out, even the hunter’s himself. Wouldn’t he?

\--

No matter how many times Abby told him to quit trying to use his hand, Kevin Day couldn’t help himself. For most of his life, his left hand meant everything to him - rather, meant everything to his Master. When news spread of his “accident” - the tragic elimination of Number Two’s southpaw - the press had a feeding frenzy. Headlines spread all over the country, most likely the world, singing songs of the end of his professional career. He stayed away from the internet for months, unprepared to face his proposed doom. The bones in his hand being crushed to pieces hurt enough but having to see vultures comment on how he would never make a comeback to the boxing world had the potential to crush the rest of him, too.

“Day,” whispered a voice, right next to his ear. “Steam will blow out of your ears if you stare any harder.” it continued.

Andrew Minyard was the only person Kevin had ever met who was incapable of pity. Half of the reason he stayed with this team of Foxes could be found in Andrew’s mouth. When he showed up at the Foxhole Gym, broken and bleeding and crushed, the first thing he heard was that smooth, marbled voice.

“Coach, there’s a little Raven on our doorstep. It seems he’s clipped a wing.” he said.

Not the kindest words, but the lack of malice - the lack of intimidation - was a grounding experience. Kevin had felt very few positive emotions directed towards him. Anger, fear, and contempt were the big three, the rest coming from the maws of those who would never truly know or understand him. Their misplaced reverence and distaste made him seethe. Andrew was not a man prone to those emotions by any means. It was possible he was not a man prone to many emotions at all. 

“Minyard, honestly,” Kevin huffed. “It is  _ not _ necessary to sneak up on people.” 

Andrew’s unimpressed, impassive look bore into him in response. Before either of them could speak, the door to their break lounge slammed open - earning the intruder a jump from Kevin’s shoulders.

“I thought I paid you to win matches, not sit on your asses and gossip,” said a gruff, impatient voice.

If Andrew Minyard was one half of the reason, Coach David Wymack was the other. His rough attitude didn’t run deep enough to mask just how much he cared about his ragtag team. The rumor mill spit out tons of articles regarding Wymack’s band of Foxes - that Coach himself was an ex-criminal or a mobster; that the rest of his team was full of cheating drug addicts and psychopaths. They called him an idealist, they called him an exploitative bastard - anything they could pin on him, he was accused of. But Coach kept his head high and his fighters protected. Kevin knew that if he were going to stay safe from the Moriyama name, against his better judgement, the Foxhole would be his best bet.

“I’m sorry Coach,” said Kevin. “I was just getting ready to meet Abby for physical therapy.” 

Coach’s lips quirked at the mention of Abby Winfield, team medic and assistant trainer. Kevin figured out pretty quickly that his coach had a soft spot for the woman. 

“Well, Minyard’s hand isn’t broken, so he should clear out and find himself a punching bag.” Wymack responded, sending a pointed look Andrew’s way. As per usual, it was shrugged off carelessly.

“Why Coach, the punching bag is right here,” Andrew snarked. “Isn’t that right, Kevin?” 

Kevin couldn’t bring himself to stand up to Andrew, especially after everything his team had done to protect him in the aftermath. When Wymack brought him to his first team meeting, hand bandaged and cradled to his chest, there were plenty of mixed reactions. A couple of them turned their sights on Andrew, prompting him for his opinion on the risky move. His blank, hazy stare bore into Kevin and after several silent moments, he waved his hand in dismissal. Afterwards, every fighter in the room had pledged to stand behind him like they would any other Fox, despite barely knowing him. 

“Minyard, get off of your ass and get the fuck in the ring.” snapped Coach, a vein beginning to push through his forehead. Andrew tapped two fingers to his forehead in farewell, and left without another word. 

Coach rounded the couch and stood in front of Kevin, arms crossed. 

“You know, nobody would mind if you gave Minyard a good verbal beatdown,” he pointed out. “Least of all, the man himself.”

Kevin shrugged, and instinctively pulled his fist to his chest. 

“What can I say to him?” he asked. “He’s allowed me to stay here, he’s listened to my advice, and he’s a great fighter,” he paused, before continuing. “What more could I ask?”

Wymack’s frown grew deeper as he spoke. Coach made an effort to school his expression before opening his mouth.

“Kevin,” he sighed. “Just because he isn’t breaking your fingers, doesn’t mean he gets to be a rude smartass.” 

He knew there was nothing he could say to make his new coach understand where he was coming from. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes pointed away. Wymack sighed again and rubbed at his temples.

“Has Abby said anything about your recovery?” he suddenly asked. “What are the chances you’ll get your left hook back?”

Kevin pulled his wounded hand even closer.

“Abby says as long as I keep doing her exercises and keep as much pressure off of my hand as possible, I may be able to retrain myself.” he shut his eyes against the pain of his next sentence. “But, she doesn’t think I’ll ever regain full use,” he spit out.

“Well,” Wymack started. “You were born with two hands for a reason, Day,” he paused, waiting for a response. He received none. “You’ll be on cardio sets and endurance training after Abby’s, sound good?” he asked.

Wymack’s eyes had softened hearing Kevin’s tone - not with pity, but understanding. Wymack himself had suffered from a serious injury early in his career, under similar circumstances. He wasn’t permanently crippled as a result, but it wasn’t uncommon to see him stretching his knee out or wearing a brace during training. Kevin knew his coach was looking out for him, but the expectation to produce revenue and results weighed heavy on his mind. He couldn’t help but see every interaction tinged with promises he was no longer sure he could fulfill. He considered retiring and becoming a trainer, maybe even becoming another assistant trainer with the Foxes, but he knew he’d be losing more than anybody would gain from his resignation. 

He didn’t realize how absorbed he’d become in his own thoughts - Wymack was still standing in front of him, waiting for an answer.

“Yes, Coach. I’ll be in her office if you need me.” Kevin mumbled, making a hasty retreat from the lounge. 

“Kevin, wait-”

The door slammed behind him before Wymack could finish.

\--

His mind had developed a bad habit of spiraling when left alone. Wandering down the hall to Abby’s office, his thoughts raced forward with memories of the past few months. Just weeks before, he was Kevin Day - the most prolific left-handed fighter in current boxing and MMA history. He was regularly referred to as “Number Two” by the media, an association made on account of his former team. Tetsuji Moriyama - the Master - had been training Kevin and his “brother” Riko Moriyama ever since they could walk. Kevin’s mother, Kayleigh Day, was one of the most famous female fighters in a time when women were not normally hailed on account of their boxing prowess. Plus, she was left-handed, just like Kevin. She died a few years after Kevin’s birth, leaving him in the hands of her old manager and friend. The Master made sure to exploit that fact in order to make Kevin a profitable financial asset. However, he was constantly reminded that Riko was the priority, not him. Outsiders were valuable but not embraced in The Nest - the Moriyamas’ made sure he never forgot that fact.

As much as the media loved to rip Kevin to shreds, they loved praising him just as much. Rumors has spread that other trainers were interested in working with Kevin, intending to separate him from The Ravens. Some said that he easily had the skill to surpass Riko, and his team was intentionally holding him back in order to further Number One’s career. This was the beginning of the end. 

He had forgotten his gloves and hand wraps in the gym, and when he came back to his room, Riko was sitting on his bed in wait. Before he could ask what was going on, Jean Moreau had him pinned in a lock, holding his left arm out for Riko to prey upon. He doesn’t remember much after that, only the sound of his bones cracking, shattering under a hammer. When he came to he was sitting in a dark car, idling in front of the doors to the Foxhole Gym. 

When he was finally bandaged up and thoroughly wrung out from his ordeal, Andrew was the first person who dared approach him. Minyard himself had a reputation that trailed miles behind him. He had done a couple stints in juvie, and eventually got a job at a bar with his cousin and twin brother. Unfortunately, one night a couple of boxers, high off of a win, found their way into his bar. Said cousin, Nicky Hemmick, ended up cornered by the drunk fucks. Had Andrew not intervened, Nicky would have suffered a much worse fate. Andrew was approached by Wymack soon after, agreeing to sign with him and assist with the legal case that followed his hospitalization of four professional fighters. 

Andrew, naturally, was curious as to how Number Two ended up at their doorstep. After interrogating Kevin he extended a deal, sealed by the only physical contact ever initiated between the two of them outside of the ring - a handshake. Andrew promised to protect him from his masters if Kevin stood on his own and raised his left hand high in triumph - as a Fox. This deal was not proposed to teach Kevin a lesson, it was merely a diversion tactic. Andrew’s brother was currently suffering from severe drug addiction, and Andrew’s promise to Aaron Minyard was forged many years before. If Kevin kept his face in the news, Aaron’s face would stay out of it. He needed time and space to detox and recover, out of the scrutiny of the public. There was no better kindling to feed the firestarters than the Day name. 

A soul for a soul, Kevin supposed.

\--

Kevin finally found the strength to move his fist from its frozen position in front of Abby’s door. A knock resounded, and a quick, “Come in!” got his feet moving in the right direction. Kevin opened the door and was immediately greeted by not one, but two familiar faces - the second being Renee Walker, the Foxes' best female lightweight. His eyebrows drew together in confusion as he looked between Abby and Renee’s faces. She sat at one of the chairs in front of Abby’s desk, and extended a wave in greeting.

“Hey Kev,” greeted Abby. “Renee said she had something to talk to you about before we started today.” she finished, giving Kevin a sheepish smile as she rubbed her hands together. Kevin quickly took the other seat in front of her desk, Renee’s gaze following him with serene composure. 

“Good morning, Kevin. I hope you don’t mind speaking with me for a moment.” she began - a gentle prod. Renee didn’t look like much, but he’d caught her sparring with Andrew and pitied any fighter that was misled by her gold crosses and pastel hair. Whatever protest he may have had died in his throat when he looked into her eyes, dark and intent.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trepidatiously. Renee cleared her throat.

“I heard a rumor that one of your old teammates is planning something very interesting,” she told him. Her tone turned to ice as she continued.

“Nathaniel Wesninski is formally challenging Andrew this year,” she explained. “Coach Moriyama is calling for a press conference next week.” 

Abby gasped quietly. Kevin swallowed a scream. 


	3. A Den of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew spills, Kevin swears, a plan is made.

I have nothing to say. Everyone knows the story, anyways.

\--

Andrew Minyard looked like the type of man you could ignore, until his right hook flew into your face and broke your nose. Scarred knuckles, blonde hair, hazel eyes, and five-foot even, one might overlook him simply based on stature. Making that mistake had proved nearly fatal for most who’d dare to make it. Andrew was a testament to the strength of those who fight for their lives every day. 

From countless foster homes to juvenile detention to the local bar scene, he had learned early on that confrontation and hostility lurked around every corner. It wasn’t a surprise that Andrew had made plenty of use out of the weight rooms in juvie, and continued with his physical training upon release. Plenty of trainers and coaches for all different sports showed up in juvie, trying to enrich the lives of California’s troubled youth. He couldn’t stand any of them, until he met his boxing trainer. Andrew first spotted him standing in the doorway to the yard. He was halfway through a cigarette when he met Andrew’s eyes, and as if sensing his yearning, beckoned him over with a grin. 

“You haven’t seen one of these in a while, huh?” he asked Andrew, taking a long drag. “I’m not supposed to encourage such bad habits with the youth, but you look like you’re too far gone for me to stop you anyways.” he chuckled, and handed the rest of it to Andrew. He lit himself new one and they stood in silence, savoring the ritual. 

Andrew showed up to boxing class the next week, earning him an unwanted smile, and a correction on his “atrocious” stance. His trainer knew how to keep his distance, but wasn’t afraid to correct him as clinically and gingerly as possible. When he was finally released, he was placed in his biological mother’s custody and made a point to attend his local boxing gym to keep up with practice. He would never admit that he used boxing as a distraction from his new home life.

\--

When Andrew was conceived, his mother, Tilda Minyard, found out she had gotten pregnant with two children instead of one. This terrified her, so she gave them both up for adoption and washed her hands of the twins. A mere week later, she was struck with the guilt, but knew she couldn’t raise two of them on her own. As a compromise she picked one of them, and brought Aaron back with her. Andrew was left in the foster system to be raised by wolves and Aaron grew up with his own beast. Later in life, they were serendipitously reunited. Finally, they had uncovered Tilda’s dirty little secret.  

Andrew had dealt with a lot of unpleasantness in his previous homes, to say the least. Abuse, assault, neglect, and outright animosity were not unfamiliar to him, and had served as the basis for his future interactions with every outsider in his life. However, his stint with Tilda and Aaron killed any sliver of hope he may have had to enjoy a normal life with the people he shared blood with. His late mother covered most of the awful bases, including a heavy opiate addiction. Her neglect of his brother led to Aaron developing a similar crutch, and the bruises he found on his twin every time he came home from practice set his heart on fire. Aaron made the excuse of fighting or sports and once, a drug deal gone wrong, but his twin knew better. Andrew offered Aaron one of the first deals he had ever made. Protection in exchange for isolation.

Only a few months after Andrew moved in with his family, did his mother die in a “tragic” car accident, thankfully leaving her passenger alive. After the funeral, Aaron made it very clear that his drug addiction would only get worse, and he would never forgive Andrew for the sacrifice he made on his behalf. However, he kept his promise. Andrew protected him from his mother, and anybody else who may have had impure intentions, and Aaron made no attempts at outside friendships or relationships. It was the two of them, resentfully, against the world. But then, there was Nicky.

\--

Nicholas “Nicky” Hemmick was their cousin, and a different creature altogether. Nicky’s parents, Luther and Maria Hemmick, were most of the reason he ended up with his biological family instead of another foster home - they testified at his hearing. Luther sat behind the podium and told the jury that being with his recently discovered family might curb some of his more violent tendencies, and that they would work with Andrew to rehabilitate him. As the court didn’t really care if he went back into foster care or back home with the Minyards, they granted Luther his wish. Andrew almost couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling at the brittle smile the decision put on his uncle’s face. 

At the time of his trial, Nicky was studying abroad in Germany and hadn’t even met Andrew yet. Once he was released, Nicky stood with the rest of the family, tears in his eyes and arms open in greeting. Andrew didn’t spare him a second glance as he stalked past and got into the car. For some reason, this only served to bolster his cousin’s motivation. He called the Minyard house every week to check on the twins, he showed up twice a month to spend some “quality” time with them, and refused to let the obnoxiously bright smile fall from his face. After Tilda passed, he bought a house in Virginia and asked the two of them to move away with him. Nicky never said anything about the state of the twins, but always offered them some sort of reprieve from their less-than-ideal circumstances. Of course, Nicky had his own troubles, too.

Once they moved to Virginia, Nicky decided to get a job at a local club, Eden’s Twilight. It was the kind of place that could overlook your shadowy background, but would expect honesty, hard work, and loyalty in return. Eden’s was the kind of place Andrew could respect, could even develop a fondness for, and Nicky’s bartending skills got the twins a very tidy in at the club. They started by washing dishes but bumped Andrew up to bouncer after Roland, head bartender, caught him training at his new gym. A few months went by, the club was flourishing, their little family had a steady income, and the mortgage was paid a few months in advance. 

Things always get worse before they get better.

\--

The passage of time was a concept that Andrew was fully familiar with - having an eidetic memory meant that he vividly remembered and catalogued every second that had and ever would occur in his life. However, the night that led him to his current predicament passed in what felt like a blur. Four professional boxers, one vulnerable cousin, and one dark corner of the club was all it took for Andrew to throw away his normally intact self preservation skills. His fists saw his targets before his eyes did, and his “victims” all left in ambulances. Not long after, he was arrested for assault for the second time in his life. 

While he was sitting in holding, fully prepared to go back to jail, he received a visitor. A tall, middle-aged, muscular man with trailing flame tattoos on his biceps seated himself across from Andrew, arms crossed in front. They sat in silence for several minutes, until his visitor finally cleared his throat.

“So, how did a little thing like you take down four men twice your size?” he asked, staring Andrew down. The silence continued, but Andrew broke it this time.

“I was advised not to speak to anyone without my lawyer present,” he deadpanned. “Ever heard of stranger danger?” 

That earned the blonde a chuckle from the older man, who uncrossed his arms and folded his hands together on the table between them.

“My name is David Wymack, and I’m a professional boxing coach,” he told Andrew. “And you’re Andrew Minyard, a professional club bouncer,” he continued, a crooked smirk on his lips. “See? Now we’re not strangers.”

Andrew leaned forward to copy Wymack’s hands, and stared directly into his eyes.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you aren’t getting one.” he told Wymack, serious as death. Wymack’s posture stiffened for a few seconds, but the tension abated just as quickly. 

“They aren’t mine,” he assured. “They deserved what you gave them.” Wymack huffed. 

Andrew hadn’t a clue at the time, but that conversation would change his entire life, again.

\--

Wymack bought one of the best lawyers in Virginia, and got Andrew off with no jail time. The terms of his release, however, included mandatory therapy sessions once a week, three years of parole, and three years of monitored medication. A small price to pay to stay out of jail, for Andrew. He made his deal in court, and made his own deal with Wymack. Andrew agreed to move downstate and train at the Foxhole Gym, if Wymack could make him a professional boxer. He would take care of his training and set up his matches, Andrew and Wymack would make boatloads of cash, and Andrew could come off of his medication for matches. 

However, Wymack did not know that the deal included a Minyard twin and a cousin as well. 

They kept their house in Columbia for the weekends, and used some of Andrew’s contract money for a new house in Palmetto. Nicky got into college at Palmetto State University, and Aaron got a job on the side for pocket money. When they weren’t otherwise occupied, they spent a lot of time at Andrew’s gym, getting to know the rest of Wymack’s team. They soon became unofficial gym mascots; Abby offered to teach Aaron some medic skills, Wymack often threatened to use Nicky as a punching bag. The three of them fell into a routine, something they hadn’t experienced in a long while. The stability was intoxicating and infuriating at the same time. The same problems still lurked under the surface of their relationships, but the false sense of security lulled them into a kind of complacency. 

\--

Their worlds were soon again upended when Kevin Day showed up at their doorstep. One of the current greats, dragging his crumpled left hand into the Foxhole, caused a ripple through the entire team, large enough to rip them into pieces if left unattended. Not that Andrew gave a particular shit about Day or the team, but he knew it was a situation that needed to be handled. Andrew had a family to protect and a few promises to keep - Kevin was the perfect piece to complete the puzzle.

When Day first dragged his corpse into the gym, Andrew happened to be the only person training that night. He nearly collapsed on the floor, the pieces of his hand barely held together by haphazard bandages. Andrew grabbed Coach and Abby from the back office, and brought them to the Raven.

“Kevin Day, holy  _ fuck- _ ” Coach started, barely comprehending the sight in front of him. Abby finally caught up to them, and let herself gasp, horrified, before she rushed forward and led Kevin to her office to take a look at the mess someone had made of him. Coach took a deep, frazzled breath and spared a glance for Andrew.

“What do you think, midget?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together. Andrew cocked his head in mock confusion.

“I think you take in too many refugees, Coach,” Andrew snarked. “If you let me talk to him first, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Coach huffed out a chuckle, and brushed him off with a swipe of his hand.

“If you have to hit him, make sure I can’t see it and you have a deal,” Coach dismissed him. Andrew took that as his cue. 

\--

“You should sue your driver, Day,” Andrew quipped. “He should’ve taken you to the hospital, instead.” 

Kevin flinched, full body, at Andrew’s tone and dropped his head in defeat. Abby flashed him a  _ look _ , which Andrew promptly ignored. She continued examining his hand, and Andrew finally drank his fill of Kevin’s injury. The bones were crushed, splinters of white poking through the tanned skin of his fist. The blood was mostly cleared but little trickles welled up in the tears. Andrew had seen enough gore in his life, and instead of pretending to care, made eye contact with Kevin’s forehead.

“You can’t use us for free healthcare,” he said. “But if you’re planning on staying here, we should have a discussion.” 

Andrew pulled a chair from Abby’s desk, and sat backwards next to the exam table. Kevin flinched at the dragging sounds of the chair’s legs, and refused to lift his gaze. Andrew snapped his fingers in front of green eyes, and their gaze pulled forward in muted irritation. 

“Why are you here, Kevin Day?” Andrew asked, annoyance dripping into his voice. Kevin froze at the question, and silence reigned in the office for minutes. Eventually, after Kevin’s mouth struggled to get the words out, he choked out his response.

“Riko fucked me up, Minyard,” he seethed. “I have to get back in the ring, and I need your help to do it.”

Andrew’s fist balled up in veiled frustration, but one by one he uncurled each of his fingers. 

“Let’s make a deal, Day.”

\--

“Nathaniel Wesninki,” Andrew tested the name out on his tongue. “I can’t imagine what he might have against me.”

Kevin shuddered at the name, and curled into himself.

“Andrew, you need to take this seriously,” Kevin pleaded. “He’s been trained by the best for most of his life, and he’s a genuine threat. If he bests you, the Master will either have you or I killed, if not both of us. You’ve taken his property, and he’s sending Wesninski to bring it back.” 

Andrew flicked imaginary dirt off of his armbands, and pursed his lips in thought.

“He’ll have to try very, very hard,” Andrew maintained. “I don’t break promises.” 

Kevin couldn’t have rolled his eyes any harder. 

“The Master doesn’t care about your promises, Minyard. He cares about his investments. We have to be very careful about how we proceed,” he said.

Andrew waved Kevin away flippantly, and leaned his back against the lounge couch. 

“As you can tell, I’m absolutely terrified,” he pointed to his blank stare in response. Kevin scoffed and crossed his arms.

“We have a lot of work to do,” he started. “First, you’re going to accept his ‘challenge’ and show up to the press conference. At the conference, you’re going to play up the rivalry, but keep your attitude to a minimum. Then, you’re going to-”

“Kindly fuck off, Day,” Andrew interrupted. “I know exactly what I’m going to do. Keep your submission out of my course of action,  _ thank you. _ ”

“And remember whose rehab you’re paying for in exchange.” Andrew got up, flashed his two finger salute, and stomped out of the lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET KEVIN SAY FUCK!!!!!
> 
> new chapter coming soon - thank you so much to everyone who is giving this fic love and kudos and subs. you make it so much easier to write!


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